Ride
by newheights
Summary: Something that's been rattling around in my head for a while, set pre-walkers. Daryl Dixon x OC, inspired slightly by the Lana Del Rey song "Ride" [One Shot]


"Come on, Dixon!" I plead. "It's St. Patrick's Day."Daryl gazes at me over his beer, unmoved.  
"I ain't Irish." I just stare at him, stymied. He has a point.  
"And you aren't either, Mace,"  
"So?" I rally. "Neither is Merle, but you know he's somewhere drunk off his ass. Live a little."  
I don't know why this is so important to me-I'm tired of being a good girl all the time.  
The only rebellious thing I'd ever done was cross the tracks to visit Daryl. Daryl puts his bottle down and stares at me for a long moment, debating. "If Merle ever finds out we did this..."  
He begins. Abruptly, I feel a big smile break over my face. Daryl was caving.  
"If Merle ever funds out we did this," he begins again, rubbing his stubbly chin in thought.  
"Our ass is grass."  
"I'm not going to-" I rush in to reassure him, but Daryl intends to have his full say.  
"And he's the lawnmower."  
Instead of replying, worried that anything I might say would break the spell of stupidity we both seemed to be under, I mime zipping my lips. Then, for good measure, pretend to throw a key over my shoulder. Daryl doesn't move, so I cross my heart and hold up three fingers girl-scout style, grinning at him hopefully. I'd never been on a motorcycle before. Until today.  
I see my friends shoulders sag in defeat and resist the urge to do a Snoopy dance.  
"Oh hell, let's go."  
I'm up and out the door before either one of us can change our minds.

"Alright,"  
Daryl tells me as I stand there in the front yard, staring at the hulking black machine in front of me, gleaming in the sunlight. "Climb on."  
"How?" This causes a grin to flit across D's face before he climbs on himself, slinging his leg over with elaborately preformed movements.  
"Like that?" Okay. Okay, that seemed easy enough. In theory, anyway.  
I throw one long leg over the hog and feel incredibly awkward all at once-I'd never been this close to a man before, much less Daryl.  
Knowing he's in the same boat, the SS Proximity To The Opposite Sex helps, but just barely. I debate for a moment before grabbing onto Daryl's sides, neutral territory, hanging on for dear life, startled a little when the motor roars to life. "Hang on,"  
And then we're pulling out of the grass, onto the gravel road and down the highway beyond.

Once I relax I find myself growing annoyed at Daryl's glacial pace.  
"You're driving like a Grandma!" I tease him unmercifully, my mouth close to his ear to be heard over all of the racket.  
Without a word, Daryl guns the engine. This is what freedom feels like. Exactly.  
We're hitting somewhere around sixty when I let go of him, putting my hands up and over my head, arching my back pleasantly and shouting my joy into the wind. Startled, my partner-in-crime lets go of one of the handlebars to briefly put a hand on my thigh, steadying me and making me feel more alive than ever.

We ride this way for miles, my hands back on him, resting comfortably on his shoulders this time as we slow down in ten mile increments before petering to a complete stop on the side of a deserted two-lane road with nothing but vast wheat fields surrounding us on either side.  
Daryl climbs off, stretching and I follow suit, careful not to burn my leg on any hot pipes.  
"What're we doing?"  
"Out of gas," Daryl answers me in that succinct way of his, sounding bored.  
Immediately, I panic, practically hopping from one foot to the other with a constant exclamation of "Ohshitohshitohshit,"  
It is not my finest moment. But in my defense, all I can think of is the last time Daryl had "borrowed" something of Merle's he'd mysteriously come up with a black eye. And that was over half a pack of unfiltered cigarettes-this was Merle's _baby_.  
We were lawn clippings.  
"Leave it," I hear myself blurt out, much to my own horror.  
"What?" Daryl is as surprised at this declaration as I had been.  
"Wipe it down," I elaborate against my better judgement. "Leave it, say it was stolen. I'll be your alibi."  
"Macy, are you _nuts_?!"  
"No!" I protest. Out of my mind with fear, maybe, yeah but 'nuts' is a little harsh.  
"I don't see you coming up with a better id-"  
"I was kidding."  
For a long moment it's like the world stops and I find that I'm actually numb with shock. "What?"  
"We have plenty of gas," Daryl leans casually against the bike, stretching his long legs out and lighting a cigarette, one of his sneaked Virginia Slims, the ones Merle rags on Daryl so badly about, the ones I always claim are mine even though I'd only ever smoked one of the stupid things and then puked for a solid hour. Personally, I preferred menthols.  
"Was yankin' yer chain-you said you wanted to live a little."  
It was true, I did say that. And now I was saying I wanted to kill one of my best friends.  
Or thinking it, anyhow. And Daryl had asked **ME** if** I** was nuts.  
Daryl pushes off the bike, walking towards me and I surprise the both of us by pushing him back a step, both of my hands smacking against his scrawny chest. "You fucking idiot," I hiss, drawing air in-between my teeth.  
This actually appears to wound Daryl and even through my fury I feel sorry for hurting his feelings like that.  
Before I can say anything else hurtful, or worse, apologize, I wheel away and begin walking in the opposite direction from the way we'd come, back towards the highway. "Macy, where are you going?"  
"Home!" I toss over my shoulder, making him scoff.  
"Don't be stupid-I'll take you home. Get on the bike."  
"Go to hell, Dixon."  
Honestly, I wasn't even all that mad at him for his little prank; I could see how it could have been funny, had I not gotten so scared.  
I was, however, furious at _myself_ for being so worried about him all the time, for caring so much. What was I, his mother?  
Lord knew I wasn't his girlfriend.  
"Dammit," Daryl growls, flicking his cigarette away, half-smoked to come after me, catching my arm before I've gotten very far at all.  
"Macy, come on..." I grind to a halt and stand there, stiffly, without looking at him.  
Standing there, shaking my head, I disagree with Daryl without actually having to say anything.  
"It's my fault. I shouldn't have asked you to-" I pause, gesturing towards to bike.  
"Whatever, you know?"  
"Truce? Daryl asks and before I can answer, he begins laughing. At me. "You should have seen your face!"  
"Shut the fuck up, D," I protest, not unkindly.  
Then, impulsive as hell, I do something I've wanted to do for a long time now, taking a step forward to close the distance between us, placing a warm hand on either side of his face, kissing him, stunning the both of us with my nerve.  
I'm terrified to look up at him once the kiss is broken but Daryl just laughs again, grabbing my hand back to pull me towards the bike that had, like its owner, caused so much drama.  
"Come on, let's ride into town. I'll buy you a green beer."  
"That sounds like a plan."  
It sounded like heaven, actually.


End file.
